Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1) (21 page)

Time dragged into days. 

One morning the laboratory felt dreary, depressing.  He yearned for companionship and wandered into Donovan’s tower. 

The tower buzzed with activity.  He hardly recognized members of the Zebulon crew, freshly transported from Prosperity.  They enthusiastically greeted him, dressed in native clothing and babbling local jargon.

Absorbed in conversations, hovering over books spread out on the dining table, Donovan didn’t notice Alex.  Chella worked on a chart that allocated space in assorted towers, while Krystal organized their move into the king’s tower. Maggie clattered pans in the kitchen. 

It all cheered Alex.  He realized how much he’d missed the warm glow of friendship.  Happiness was like a tonic.  Quick to notice the shabby bandage on Donovan’s hand, he mentally chastised himself for neglect and interrupted the conversation.  “Let me examine your hand, Donovan.” 

“It’s fine, Alex.”

He stiffened, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms.  “I don’t recall your qualifications for diagnosis!  The title of king doesn’t confer medical credentials.  As court physician, I demand to see your wound.”  The concern in his voice softened the impact of his severe manner.

“It’s just a scratch,” Donovan said and unwrapped the makeshift bandage. 

Cradling the swollen hand in his long fingers, the doctor frowned.  “Just a scratch!  It’s an infected wound, full of poison!” 

Donovan looked sheepish.  “It doesn’t hurt, I thought…”

“Absence of pain can be a serious symptom.  If you hope to survive to rule your kingdom, seek my medical advice and follow my recommendations!”  Alexander’s lips formed a thin line and his eyes narrowed.  Krystal appeared at Donovan’s side, her eyes wide with fear.  Dr. Alexander produced a knife and punctured the hand.  Puss mixed with blood oozed from the wound.

“We don’t know the nature of Forshell’s poison.  It might be designed to slow you down, or it could deteriorate blood vessels and create an infection leading to death.”  Dr. Alexander poured a white powder onto the wound.  Donovan flinched as the powder bubbled.

Dr. Alexander noted the reaction with a curt nod.  “Good!  You won’t be tempted to self-diagnose next time.”

Donovan smiled mischievously.  “That gives you away, doctor!  You’ve confirmed there will be a next time.  Thanks.”  Donovan accepted a fresh dressing and returned to his discussion.

Alexander stomped away, feeling secretly amused that Donovan read him so perfectly. 

Krystal followed—not amused.  “What do you mean, scaring me like that!”  Her blue eyes flashed.

“The lesson was not meant for you.  King or not, Donovan’s overconfidence needs trimming away from time to time.  You were remiss by allowing him to remain untreated for so long.  Why wasn’t I summoned?”

“You stayed holed up in your lab and things got confused…I’m sorry…if anything happened to him…” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Alex softened.  “Donovan’s fine.  The poison will drain.  Change the dressing twice daily, and he’ll soon be fit.  If he argues about treatment call me at once.”  Dr. Alexander rocked back on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back, his lecturing posture.

Her lips curled into a shy smile.  “Well…I have something to discuss with you.”  Krystal cast a sidelong glance toward Donovan.  “Can I schedule an appointment, doctor?” 

Dr. Alexander felt apprehensive; the moment he feared was at hand.  “Certainly, come by the lab in an hour.  We’ll have privacy there.”  He read her attitude accurately, privacy was important. 

“An hour it is,” she said, hurrying back to the packing.

Dr. Alexander took his time returning to the lab.  He took the congested public route to the king’s tower, skirting around boxes and people, scrutinizing faces.  He observed no signs of mourning over the deaths of Halder or Forshell.

Court messengers rushed past with expressions of excitement.  Cheerless ladies fluttered fans vigorously as they babbled in hushed tones.  Wild-eyed Lords swept through the halls, while servants dawdled, sluggish and depressed.  This might prove an interesting drama.  No one in the court actually believed Donovan could become king; therefore no one knew which alliance provoked political disaster, or offered a boon. 

As he entered the hall outside the king’s tower, several petitioners jumped to their feet, anxiously awaiting Donovan.  When they recognized the doctor, they sank into their chairs disgruntled.  Dr. Alexander felt grateful he wouldn’t need to wait outside and knocked on the door. 

A stern guard promptly barred his entrance.  Alex felt astounded.  “I’m the king’s physician.  Don’t you recognize me?”

“I’ll fetch Sir Bryant.”  The guard’s expression betrayed nothing.  He shut the door in the doctor’s face and Alex bristled at the snickers of the other petitioners.  Disgusted, he pounded on the heavy door.

Bryant’s congenial face appeared.  “Sorry, doctor we must exercise caution.  I’ve amended orders to allow your admittance at any hour.”  He swung the door wide.  The doctor glanced meaningfully at envious faces behind him and entered.

“You haven’t lost much time taking over.”  Immediately Alex regretted his tone as Bryant’s face paled.

“It’s my duty to protect the king.”  The soft words betrayed anguish.

Alex nodded.  “I didn’t mean…” Bryant abruptly left. 

The doctor realized that King Halder assigned Bryant to serve Donovan as a way to give the loyal man a means of coping with his impending death.  Work and responsibility proved a great outlet for grief.  Dr. Alexander meandered through the chaos.  Servants frantically cleaned and packed Halder’s possessions, getting ready for Donovan’s occupancy. 

Justin stood near the door, gazing on the scene like a lost puppy.  The doctor smiled at the grieving boy, who spent his young life serving a dying king.  Dr. Alexander’s heart throbbed, wishing he could comfort the lad.  Justin held his body rigid, holding back tears.  It appeared that Bryant and Justin were the only mourners in this castle.

“Justin.”  The boy turned, ready to lash out at the intruder.  Dr. Alexander understood.  “Can you assist me in my laboratory?” 

The boy’s stiff shoulders relaxed.  “Yes, sire.”  

“To prepare a potion properly, I need the trusted hands of a bright assistant.”  Dr. Alexander’s steady voice sounded soothing.  “I thought I’d draft you into my service, unless you have other work.”  He detected hope in Justin’s drooping eyes.

“Be happy to help, sire.”

“Call me doctor.  We’ve got too many sires wandering around here for my taste.”  A smile tugged at the boy’s mouth. 

Justin proved eager to learn and had a quick mind.  Dr. Alexander felt gratified to find an impulse rewarded with an industrious assistant.  The boy cleaned the entire lab carefully, his own days of gloom forgotten as he grouped beakers and vials in order of scientific compounds.

“You’ve acquired a new helper, I see.”  Krystal stood in the doorway looking nervous.

“Come in, come in.  I’m ready for your appointment.  Justin, why don’t you give us a bit of privacy?  I’ll meet you in the library.”  He nodded shyly and dashed from the room, his short legs churning.  “What’s on your mind, my dear?”

Watching the boy’s dark head bobbing down the hallway, she said, “Children.”

“What about them?”  Dr. Alexander’s chest tightened, dreading this conversation.

“It’s Donovan’s greatest dream to have a son, and the Lords expect me to provide him with an heir.”  She looked wistful.  “I want to be a mother but it’s been months since I stopped taking contraceptives.  I thought I’d become pregnant by now.”

Alex eyes avoided her questioning gaze.  “Sit down, my dear.”

“Something’s wrong!  Don’t worry, I can read it in your face without breaching your thoughts.” 

He frowned, staring at his shoes, his throat dry and stomach queasy.  “Overpopulation, duty, the war, they all influenced our decision.  We did it to insure against failure of judgment.”

“What decision?  What failure of judgment?”

His chest ached.  This was more difficult than he thought.  “For some time now the Institute substituted vitamins for the contraceptive formula.  We forgot about revising the policy after the war.  How could we know?  Events became distorted and we always had the option of cloning a new body which functioned normally…”

“Our bodies don’t function normally?  Are you telling me I can’t produce children?”

He sat down with a sigh.  “We manipulated clones in the early growth stages.”  He averted his gaze from her accusing eyes to continue, “None of the female clones are capable of pregnancy due to blocked fallopian tubes.  Women like Maggie, who were predisposed to cancer, have no uterus.”

“Donovan is able to father children?”

Alex nodded, his eyes pleading for understanding.  “Since females were barren, we felt no need to tamper with male reproductive systems.”

“Barren.”  The half-whispered word sounded like a death-sentence.

“How could we know?  We could process your next clone with a working reproductive system.  We didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think, and worse, you didn’t ask or advise!  Why not give your patients a choice?  You lied by omission.”

“The Institute instigated the policy during the war to prevent inconvenient births…” He accepted the barrage of anger emanating from her mind.

“You manipulated our bodies, controlled our future without our knowledge or approval.  I hate all of you!”  Krystal slumped into a chair, head drooping as she sobbed.

Feeling dreadful, he wanted to comfort her but stood frozen.  “What can I say?”

“You heard those Lords demand an heir!  You heard Donovan’s promise to give up the throne in ten years.  When did you plan to tell us?  From the moment we landed, you let us believe we could live a normal life!”

“I’ve been working on a solution.”  Dr. Alexander fingered the control of an ancient computer sitting in the lab for hundreds of years.  “Records describe methods of developing a fetus outside a woman’s body for implantation.  Give me time and I can help you bear children.”  

“Time!  How long before the Lords demand an heir?  How long before Donovan becomes unhappy without a son?”

“Donovan said ten years.”

“You think the Lords will wait ten years?  I’ve heard whispers, gossip about my fertility from Ladies doing needlework.  Men joke about Donovan’s virility.  Do you suppose we can wait around while you experiment?”

“It will work!”

Combing trembling fingers through her hair, Krystal asked, “Will Donovan accept a baby created in a laboratory?  It’s an abnormal birth.”

The doctor paced the room.  “Donovan understands scientific miracles, unlike the superstitious people on this planet.  He loves you!”

“If I’m unable to give him what any woman on this planet could easily provide, will he grow tired of me?  Will our love be destroyed by my failure?”

“He’s a better man than that!”  Alex bristled. 

“I know.  It’s just that…I hope you can develop an answer before I must yield him to another woman.”  Krystal wiped tears from her cheeks and ran from the laboratory.

He felt battered.  When they ran from the Institute, he never thought the Transfer equipment might be destroyed.  Transfer saved lives and corrected mistakes.  If only he could use the ship’s computers to assimilate data…If only he’d thought ahead…if only…if only…He must stop reaching for excuses and solve the problem with the resources available on Drako.  Test tube babies!  Medical science accomplished the miracle by using antiquated equipment.  He could reconstruct the method since he knew more than they did.

“What man discovered once, I can rediscover,” he muttered, determined to solve the problem.

******

The Sacred Island rose from the misty depths of a volcanic lake.  Kriegen recognized the holy place from mental images supplied by his ancestor minds.  Rising from the center of the island and coated with thousands of layers of sacred mud, a narrow bridge accessed the holy cavern from shore.  The mud created telepathic dampers to obstruct outside interference, keeping the secrets of the Elders safe from eavesdroppers.

Kriegen left his designated host on the shoreline—hosts were not permitted to cross.  While guards gently probed his mind, Kriegen remained calm, voluntarily opening his shields to allow the mental touch.  Later, walking on the causeway, he observed waters filled with lake-guardians.  Kriegen clutched his knife, visualizing an ancestor’s memory of hunting a lake-guardian to secure the useful blade. 

Floating on a wobbly craft, his ancestor roped the creature, snaring its head just behind the long narrow snout.  The guardian fought vigorously, thrashing, jerking, and hitting the floater with its knobby tail and stubby legs.  The ancestor speared through leathery hide.  Feeling its life slip away, the lake-guardian opened gaping jaws filled with razor-sharp teeth and hissed.  Guardian teeth provided the pack with knife blades and cutting tools. 

Inside the Sacred Cavern, flickering lights lined the walls much like the lights that illuminated human caverns.  A majestic structure rose from the red floor.  Taller than most trees, the object towered above the Council of Elders.  Four wolves sat in front of the massive object.  The ancestors had not prepared Kriegen for this awesome sight.